


You Can Never Tell

by deathgetsusall



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathgetsusall/pseuds/deathgetsusall
Summary: Glimpses of moments in Alvis and Dutch’s relationship throughout the years. Takes a few liberties with canon events and timeline.





	

Alvis tugged his cloak down further over his face and trudged forward into the cold rain that had been falling steadily for the last three days. He knew Lucy was scheduled to dock sometime in the next hour and he hoped to make it to the Royale before Dutch and the Jaqobis brothers arrived for their celebratory post-warrant drinks. He really should have taken the tunnels - for a man who suffered daily without complaint he truly hated cold rain - but Pree had stressed that the tunnel under the Royale was for emergencies only and ‘seeing Dutch isn’t an emergency, sweetheart.’

 

Suppressing a shiver, Alvis ducked into a dark alley to escape the notice of several Company guards checking identification at a checkpoint between him and his destination. At least the alleyways were partially covered, and if he hugged the walls of the buildings that lined them, he could avoid the worst of it. Warm Lethian rain was something he enjoyed, but the rain on Westerly was never warm, even when it wasn’t deadly. Occasionally he wished that Dutch would buy a berth on Leith for Lucy and establish her home base there, because it would be convenient during the days and weeks he spent at the monastery - but he knew that wasn’t possible and that neither of them could stray far from Westerly for long. The plight of the Westerlins was too near to both of their hearts, though Dutch may never admit it.

 

He pushed open the front door of the Royale with the assistance of a particularly strong gust of cold wind, and gratefully allowed it to close behind him. Pushing his cloak back from his face, he took in the scene inside. Never especially busy during the middle of the daytime mining shift, it was even less so today. The rain had kept many Westerlins home for the last few days, and the Royale reflected that. Although there would always be the few dedicated drinkers from the overnight shifts and those without anywhere to go, in addition to the sexers who lingered at all hours. The Royale was better in that regard than many bars in Old Town - Pree was too kind and interested in his patrons’ lives for the solitary alcoholics to find solace in hokk here.

 

“Uncle, a blessing?” a tired-looking old man asked as Alvis approached the bar. In his time as a Scarback, he had learned that in every bar on every planet or moon, there was always one person far enough into the drink to see their failings and regrets clearly enough to desire a blessing, while remaining sober enough to actually request one.

 

Alvis drew the blade across the skin of his arm. “And the roots grew…”

 

“You don’t have to bless him every single time you come in here, you know.” Pree reminded him, as he reached the bar.

 

“I know. But if he genuinely seeks a blessing, I will never deny him.” Alvis leaned against the counter and nodded in thanks when Pree poured him a glass of hokk.

 

“If only all of those Company thugs and miners who admire and fear you knew how soft your heart is, Alvis. I don’t think they’d broadcast so many wanted posters with your pretty face on them.” After a cautious pause, Pree added, “And I don’t think our girl knows quite how soft your heart is either…”

 

Tossing back the hokk, Alvis merely stared balefully at Pree until he laughed and patted him on the hand that wasn’t clenched around his glass.

 

“Honey, the whole quad knows about your feelings for that girl by now. Please don’t tell me that you thought you were being subtle?”

 

“No, not subtle, but I had thought that maybe someone as soft-hearted as *you* would kindly not speak of those feelings, given that they’re not reciprocated. I’m not stupid, Pree. I know that Dutch will never open herself up again, especially not after that mess with Khylen.” Sighing, Alvis didn’t object when Pree refilled his glass with a higher quality, stronger hokk.

 

“Dutch doesn’t know herself yet if she’ll open herself up to love again, Alvis. Don’t decide for her that she never will,” Pree chastised kindly. “You of all people know the ways of healing are mysterious and imprecise.”

 

Smiling ruefully, Alvis replied, “I hadn’t realized that a past life as a warlord had made you so philosophical, my friend.”

 

Taking the subject change in stride, Pree corrected him, “Stylish dictator, thank you! Just because that damned wall said ‘warlord’ does not mean I was ever so basic.”

 

“Of that I have no doubt,” Alvis laughed, as he heard the door open behind him. Turning to see who had arrived, his smile turned secretive and pleased when Dutch strode purposefully into the Royale.

 

“Pree, I need a glass of your very best hokk and some excellent music!” Dutch called triumphantly as she approached the bar.

 

Laughing, Pree set a glass out next to Alvis’ and said, “I’ll go and get my personal bottle then. Looks like our girl is flush with joy and feeling festive!”

 

She came to stand in front of the glass Pree had set out, and this brought her into close proximity to Alvis. He didn’t move any closer, but he also didn’t move further away. Even when she leaned into his side and asked, “How’re things at the monastery? I wasn’t sure if you’d be back by the time we finished our warrant.”

 

“Things are going very well. Olin is recovering. It’s a slow process, but I think he’ll eventually be able to rejoin normal society. Maybe even return to Westerly someday,” he answered.

 

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She smiled charmingly at Pree when he returned with a small bottle of hokk from his personal stash.

 

“You’ll like this one, sweetheart. Aged ten years and with a kick like a mule,” he told her as he poured.

 

Taking a sip, she sighed, “Oh, that’s lovely. You’ve been hiding that one for a special occasion, I assume?”

 

“Most definitely.” Pree smiled wickedly and glanced Alvis’ way before continuing. “But a rainy day like this with good friends safe and sound, all here together? That’s a special occasion if I’ve ever heard of one.”

 

With glance around at Johnny and D’Avin taking to Pawter and N’oa and back to Pree and Alvis, Dutch laughed. “That it does. I suppose I’ll need another glass of that wonderful hokk, and perhaps you’d grace us with a song?”

 

Pree gave her a looks that said he was onto her, but he still came around the bar to grab the microphone.

 

As his lovely voice floated over them, Dutch moved closer into Alvis’ side and her hand found the small of his back under his cloak. He was wearing the undershirt many Scarbacks wore in inclement weather, and he was grateful for the barrier between her skin and his.

 

“Dance with me?” she asked, voice warm and teasing.

 

Alvis wasn’t sure he could manage a friendly dance and said, “Perhaps after I’ve finished my drink?”

 

“Come find me when you’ve finished then,” she told him, before whirling away into the small crowd that had gathered in the open space in front of the stage.

 

He turned with his glass of hokk clutched protectively in front of himself and watched her integrate herself into the group of dancers, moving with grace and power. She always looked slightly apart from the crowd when she danced. There was something different about the way she moved that stood apart. Perhaps it was that she knew the feeling of death in a way these miners and sexers would never grasp.

 

“By the trees, I’m an idiot.” Alvis muttered to himself.

 

“You really are.” Johnny’s voice startled him, but he managed to suppress his surprise and merely glanced over at him briefly.

 

Taking this as his cue to continue offering unsolicited advice, Johnny added, “We’re flush, nothing went wrong, and the fight was over before it even got started. She’s running hot, and you just let her go off on the prowl alone while you stayed at the bar to watch her and nurse less than a swallow’s worth of hokk. That’s an idiot move for sure, and I would know from watching all of D’Av’s idiot moves over the years.” He gestured back to where D’Avin was unsuccessfully flirting with N’oa, who seemed amused by his antics.

 

Not feeling particularly accommodating at the moment, Alvis finished his drink and replied, “I know that you and Dutch have never slept together, Johnny. Keep on enjoying your sisterly relationship with her, because it’s a hells of a lot more complicated from the other side. You and I both know that Dutch sets her own pace and her own rules to every relationship in her life. If I can’t play by those rules, then I shouldn’t be playing at all.”

 

“At least you’ll admit what’s going on between you. That’s a good start, but you really ought to think about what you’d like to be going on between you from this point forward. The moon eyes are getting a little old.” With a disgruntled sigh, he added, “Dutch will never admit that these sorts of things scare her, but they do. You can’t expect her to come to you - you’ll have to meet her halfway.”

 

Alvis swallowed hard and looked away from Dutch’s exuberant dancing to stare awkwardly at the floor for a moment. “What If I can’t tell what halfway is? If I overstep… it might ruin everything.”

 

“Only you and Dutch can figure that out, together,” he answered seriously, before grinning, “But halfway is definitely not all the way over at the bar all by yourself, I can tell you that. Just go dance with her, Scarback. Before someone else strikes her fancy for the night.” Johnny slapped him on the back before he wandered back to where D’Avin appeared to be trying to learn a formal Qreshi dance from Pawter as N’oa watched and laughed.

 

With a sigh, Alvis set his glass on the bar and leaned back against it, trying to observe the group of dancers as a whole. If he stared at Dutch too intensely, she was sure to notice, and he didn’t want to make things any more awkward than they already were. But his eyes found her without his permission, following her wildly graceful turns and the press of strangers’ bodies around her. Her hands slipped casually across shoulders and backs as she moved from dancer to dancer. A grungy miner with poor rhythm was passed over quickly in favor of a sexer in some kind of latex dress. Dutch’s hands played merry havoc with the ruffled edge of her short skirt before she stepped away into the radius of another man’s arms. Alvis turned his back to the dancers and removed his cloak with a barely restrained growl. Thankfully Pree had returned to behind the bar, and Alvis lifted his empty glass in request. 

 

“Oh dear,” Pree sighed at him as he refilled the glass. “I know that face. Please tell me you’re not going to get completely fucked up and mope around my bar for the rest of the night?”

 

Meeting Pree’s eyes over the edge of his glass, Alvis didn’t reply and swiftly drained his glass again.

 

“Well if you’re going to drink like that, I’m not pouring you anything expensive.”

Two drinks and several furtive glances back towards the dance floor later, Alvis had nearly worked up the nerve to join Dutch and ask for a dance. Before he had the opportunity, he felt a small strong hand at the nape of his neck that casually trailed downward to the small of his back. Warm fingers snuck beneath the edge of his shirt to linger possessively over the skin there, and the scent of jasmine and the electric burn of shock rifle rounds told him it could only be her.

 

“Dutch, how has the dance floor been?” He tried for casual, but her touch was raising goosebumps on his skin, and he was fairly sure she was completely aware of that.

 

“The dance floor is lacking in suitable partners, but it’s been entertaining nonetheless.” Her answer was low and close enough to his ear that he could feel the warmth of her breath.

 

“That’s a shame. I know you enjoy dancing.” He turned towards her slowly, seeing if the motion would disturb her hand. Thankfully she accommodated him, and her hand trailed along his skin to his hip.

 

There was a small pause, almost a moment of hesitation, before she replied, “I see that you’ve finished your drink. Maybe you’d like to join me for the next song? “

 

His glass was indeed sitting empty in front of him, and he spared a moment to marvel at Pree’s careful pacing of his pours. Instead of answering her, he gestured for her to lead the way to the dance floor.

 

Dutch released his hip and grasped his gesturing hand to pull him along behind her without protest.

 

The music was heady, a steady beat under high, breathy vocals that Alvis couldn’t quite make out. Maybe they were synthesized or maybe his ears were ringing with the racing pace of his heart and the heat of his face. Dutch directed his hand to her hip, and once it was secure she trailed her own up his arm to the nape of his neck. Dancing came naturally to them at least. They’d learned the rhythms of each other’s bodies in more carnal pursuits, and it translated flawlessly. The swaying of hips and flexing of strong thighs made the heat of his face grow, and he was grateful for the poor lighting that disguised his redness. But Dutch knew, no matter how hard he tried to hide, and she brought her free hand up to brush her thumb across his cheek and downwards to catch on his bottom lip. As if compelled, he pressed a kiss the the calloused pad but did not meet her eyes.

 

“Alvis…” she started.

 

“I’m sorry. That was inappropriate,” he murmured. Turning away abruptly, he deliberately didn’t look back as he walked out the door, afraid that Dutch’s face would show her displeasure at his presumption. The cold rain had become sleet while he was indoors, and he cursed himself for leaving without his cloak, but he didn’t turn back. He could get another cloak, but he wasn’t sure that he could repair his relationship with Dutch if he damaged it any further.

 

Cursing, he wrapped his arms around himself and tucked his chin against his chest. The Tunnel Rats would welcome him, even if his arrival wasn’t expected. He could stay with them for a few days, until Dutch and the Jaqobis brothers took another warrant and left again. If he gave her some space, perhaps Dutch would forgive his presumption and they could return to the limbo they’d been in for so long. 

 

Alvis knew that Dutch’s lovers took one of two paths when she decided to end their physical association: they became friends who did not presume to continue their romantic entanglement, or they became space debris left behind in the wake of the trail Dutch blazed through the J. He couldn’t quite manage the first, and he wouldn’t survive becoming the second, so this tenuous limbo was the only solution. 

 

\------------------

 

“I hate Harvest week,” Alvis groused.

“No you don’t. You love Harvest week,” Dutch teased. “What’s not to love? Drinking, fighting, fucking.” She laughed. “It’s pretty much perfect.”

 

A smile emerged against his will. Dutch was right. He did love Harvest week, in a way. It wasn’t as busy for him, in terms of blessings and services, as most of the rest of the year. Westerly was too busy being happy and flush for once, to be overly concerned with forgiveness for their sins. That would come the week after, once everyone’s hangovers have worn off.

 

“I think that if anyone loves Harvest week, it’s you, Dutch.” He gestured at the brawl beginning in the far corner of the Royale.

 

“You’re right. I do love it. Pree is going to owe me half of all the hokk and algae brew he owns at this rate.” With a laugh, she headed into the fray.

 

He settled back against the bar to watch her work.

 

\------------------

 

Alvis was nursing a glass of hokk as he watched Dutch and D’Avin from the corner of his eye. They were seated in the furthest back corner of the Royale and appeared to have no desire to be interrupted, by a friendly face or otherwise. Things had been strained since they’d destroyed the source of the plasma on Arkyn and returned all of the Sixes transformed with it to their original basic human state. What should have been a joyous victory had been tainted by circumstance and heartbreak.

 

Johnny had fled to the other end of the J, aided by Lucy and Clara. Pawter remained in a healing cryochamber, her injuries too severe for her to be conscious and with little recourse for her friends to find a trusted doctor to repair the damage Delle Seyah had done. Delle Seyah’s death and Johnny’s disappearance were obviously linked, although no formal charges had been made against him, and no warrants were issued. Dutch had Lucy and Bellus monitoring all new warrants, and they were all waiting for the other boot to drop. Alvis could only surmise that Johnny wasn’t aware of Pawter’s survival, and they had no way to tell him otherwise. 

 

He knew that Johnny was prone to pig-headed hastiness, but the murder of Delle Seyah Kendry was as far from hasty as it was possible to be. Johnny had carefully planned and precisely executed that plan without anyone’s knowledge or assistance, and he had fled the same way. Alvis marveled at the depth of Johnny’s love for Pawter, that he would destroy the entire life that he had built in a moment out of hatred for the woman he thought to be his wife’s murderer.

 

Something in Dutch had changed when Khylen had died, but it had broken entirely when Johnny left. Alvis wasn’t sure if it was something that would ever be fixed. She was colder, more distant, and it was almost as if the girl who had docked on Westerly nearly seven years ago had returned. Her stride was more purposeful and less swaggering, her smiles were tighter and less joyous, and her door to her heart seemed to have closed again entirely. The last seven years had unlocked that door, and it burned him to see it swing so tightly closed after it had just begun to open a crack.

 

“I don’t know if we’ll ever get our Dutch back…” Alvis murmured to Pree across the bar.

 

Pree’s smile was wan and half-hearted, “Honey, she’s still our Dutch, no matter what.”

 

“Do you think she still knows that?” 

 

Pree reached over to pat Alvis’ hand, “If that girl doesn’t know you’ll be here for her until the end of time, I don’t know where her eyes have been these last six years.” 

 

\------------------

 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” A sharp voice came from behind him as he crouched over the tunnel entrance. Alvis turned slowly, to find a beautiful woman holding an equally beautiful gun pointed at his head.

 

“My name is Alvis. Many Westerlins call me ‘the Penitent.’ And your name?” He stood carefully, hands raised, not wanting to startle her.

 

With a gimlet stare, she pointed her gun more directly at his face. “That is only one answer, Scarback. I asked you two questions.” 

 

“I’m doing a favor for a friend, but I can’t tell you any more than that unless we happen to share that friend.”

 

“That’s not a very good answer, Scarback.”

 

“It’s the only answer I have to give to someone whose intentions I don’t understand or trust.”

 

“You’re very evasive.” She lowered her gun slightly, but held it ready at her side.

 

“And you’re very persistent.”

 

Just as Alvis believed she might crack a smile, Pree entered through the back door.

 

“Dutch, Alvis, my darlings!” He whirled in, carrying several bags which he set on the bar. “Oh, Dutch. Please tell me that you’re not going to shoot Alvis? He’s far too handsome to have his brains splattered all over the Royale.”

 

“So I take it Pree is the mysterious ‘friend’ you’re doing a favor for then, Scarback?” She holstered her gun, but maintained her weighty stare.

 

“Oh sugar, ‘friend’ hardly covers it,” Pree laughed and winked flirtatiously at them both. “But friendship aside, I’m glad you’ve finally run into each other. I suspect that you have a lot of offer each other.”

 

Alvis smiled ruefully at her skeptical eyebrow, “Scarbacks are allowed to travel more freely than most in the Quad. And information travels with us.”

 

“Perhaps we’ll be able to find some common ground then.” With a haughty glance at Alvis, she followed Pree to the bar, leaving him to trail after them both.

 

“Wonderful!” With a flourish, Pree pulled out a bottle of hokk and poured them all a glass. “I think this will be the beginning of a beautiful relationship!”

 

Dutch smiled.

 

Alvis felt his heart skip a beat.

**Author's Note:**

> “Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.” - Joan Crawford


End file.
